Archive of Our Own

"Very well done, Mick!"

Mick laughed and held his fist high up. Gary bumped it with a big smile then helped his driver out of the car. "That was a fantastic practice, mate. You did just like we discussed. Proud of you."

"All thanks to you", Mick answered and picked at his knee pads. "I'm sorry about the tap near the church, I don't know how that happened."

"Don't sweat it. You reacted well, and the next two practices will go even better. We'll go over it again together."

"LANCE!"

Lance flinched and tore his eyes from the Haas. Brad came tromping down the pit lane, his impressively forbidding glance locked squarely on him.

"Do you need a special invitation?", he barked.

"No", Lance answered, "I was just…" He broke off when Brad held out his palm. Huh. That was new. But Lance had to agree, his first practice in Monaco had been quite good, if he could say so himself. Maybe he had just misread Brad's look, and he had indeed had a feeling that his engineer's mood had improved since Barcelona. He grinned, raised his arm and gave Brad a high-five.

Brad squinted. "What the hell are you doing?"

One of the Haas mechanics passing Lance's car snickered. Lance turned his head once more. Mick was already slumped over his car, rolling it back into the pit.

"Hand. Over. The. Steering. Wheel!", Brad snapped, every word emphasized and accompanied by an utterly flabbergasted look at his driver.

"Oh…" Before Lance could move, Brad leant over him and removed the wheel himself.

"What did you think I wanted to do? This wheel is worth more than your entire sorry existence!"

Lance sighed. "I know."

"You need to focus, Lance!", Brad continued his scolding. If you intend to take the nouvelle chicane like you did during every. Fucking. Lap. in this practice we might just as well go home now."

"I did just…", Lance tried to protest but Brad held up his palm again and Lance slumped back.

"We will discuss your performance later", Brad announced. "Now get out of the car and let the mechanics do their job!"

Lance scrambled to climb out of his seat while a few of the guys sauntered over.

"Thanks", Lance muttered as they rolled the car back and tore the helmet off his head.

A hand landed on his shoulder and suddenly he had Seb hanging over him. "Good lap-time there, Lancelot." He grinned as Lance rolled his eyes. "Don’t listen to Brad. Your life is definitely worth more than a steering wheel."

"To be fair, only very few things are worth more than his life", another voice suddenly piped up. Seb laughed at Mick's remark and let go of Lance. Lance smiled faintly. It was nothing he had not already heard thousands of times in one form or another. Mick winked at him.

"Your life, on the other hand, I'm not so sure", he continued, looking at Seb.

Seb shrugged. "Not that difficult. A good crêpe is worth more than my life."

Mick's eyes lit up. "One with Nutella?"

"What?", Seb exclaimed. "No! Ew! Don't tell me you take your crêpes with this sludge."

Mick gasped and said something in German before hastily switching to English again. "I mean: What do you call Nutella?"

Lance knew that was his cue. He winked with his helmet. "I better go…", he said.

"See you later", Seb said and clapped his shoulder one last time.

"Take care!", Mick added.

Their incomprehensible banter followed him into the pit. He wriggled through the post-practice chaos to the changing room and stripped out of his racing suit. He knew he was in no place to complain. Brad was an exceptional race engineer, his experience and knowledge as extensive as his expectations were high. He pushed Lance to be his best. That was his job after all.

Still, Lance could not shake a wistful feeling whenever he observed the rapport between Mick and Gary. He was more than just a race engineer, he was a mentor. Lance checked his phone. His mother had written a reminder for tonight's dinner and he sighed. Of course, Lance never said anything about Brad. There was no outcome where he would not be misunderstood. If the other drivers, the team or Brad himself heard it, they would think he was threatening his job. And, worse, if his father heard it, he would sack Brad for real. It was better to just keep quiet. He left his room and entered the pit again. Brad was slumped over a tablet, his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Do you like the view of Monaco from the harbor?", Lance asked.

Brad had only ever accepted one invitation for dinner, the very first one from Lance's father. It had been one of the most awkward evenings of Lance's entire life.

"Not particularly."

"How about Chateaubriand?"

"Hell no!"

Well, that answered that. Lance hesitated. Brad did not look up from his notes.

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

"Keep your head clear, Lance!", Brad warned.

"Will do."

Dinner was tedious and not even the tenderloin could save it. Father had invited a gaggle of old men and their wives to the race, either longstanding business partners or prospective investors, Lance was not sure and he did not care. They were cooped up in the dining room on one of the upper decks, all windows firmly closed because one of the guests had complained about a draft. Behind the windows, the lights of Monaco shone through the dusk. He suffered through three meals and too much small-talk before his mother released him with a knowing smile. According to father and his stern gaze it was much too early but Lance could not take one minute longer of their company.

"He has to be ready for practice tomorrow", she excused her son.

"Of course!", the drunkest of the old men shouted through the yacht. "Practice is important! We are looking forward to seeing you win on Sunday."

Lance distorted his lips to something resembling a smile. "I will give my best", he answered politely and then fled.

Instead of retreating to his room however, he climbed up to the bridge, where the captain was guarding the yacht all alone. Here, all windows were wide open and the soft breeze from the open sea cooled the air. From somewhere across the water, muffled sounds of music wafted in. Lance grabbed the binoculars and looked out over the bay. It was flooded with countless other yachts, one giant congregation for the race.

"One day I will gift you own pair of binoculars", the captain said from his chair. "For birthday, or Christmas." When Lance's parents were around, he tried to keep his Ukrainian accent down. Alone with Lance, however, he did no such thing.

"I don't want my own pair", Lance answered without taking his eyes off the sea.

"And why not?"

"Because there is only one pair that comes with you."

"I see. It is not about looking through binoculars, it is about annoying me."

"Exactly." Lance lingered over one of the closest yachts. Blinding lights were flickering over the calm water and the music was clearly coming from them.

"Ugh, this Mazepin", the captain groaned when he saw what Lance was looking at. "No class."

Lance agreed but it was not this that had piqued his interest. There was obviously a party raging on the upper deck of Mazepin's yacht and most of the people were lingering around the bow. One lonely person however was standing near the rear, separated from everyone. Even through the falling night Lance recognized who it was. He fished his phone out of his pocket and typed a quick message.

'No party for you?'

As soon as Lance pressed send, Mick's hand wandered to his pocket. His head shot up when he saw the words on the screen and he looked around.

'Which one's yours?' he wrote back. Through the binoculars, Lance could see his grin. He turned to the captain.

"Can you blink with a light or something? Just once."

The captain sighed at the pain of having to leave his comfortable seat, leant over and pushed one of the many buttons on the mountings.

"Thank you", Lance said and looked over the bay again.

Mick waved then started typing again. 'I see. Nice ride.'

'You should see the one for the streets.'

Mick raised the middle finger in the direction of Lance's yacht. 'Mine's better.'

Before Lance could type another retort, the captain stood up and pressed a few other buttons.

"So, have to go see your father to discuss schedule tomorrow", he announced. "Promised him before."

Lance understood and put the binoculars back. The captain did not like it when he had to leave someone on the bridge. Lance suddenly had a different plan anyway.

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night, Lance."

He hurried through the innards of the ship until he was at sea level. He knew he had only a few minutes before the captain left the dining room and one of the other staff took over for the night shift on the bridge. He found the two ship's boats near the helipad and climbed aboard the first one. In the shadow of the yacht it was almost entirely dark and Lance could barely see the buttons of the motorboat. He was experienced though and had the little boat down pat. Carefully he swerved around the other yachts that were too big to anchor closer to the shore until he was steering right at Mazepin's yacht. Mick realized that the boat was coming in his direction and walked along the side of the yacht until he was at the ladder.

"What are you doing here?", he asked incredulously.

"Inviting you to a trip", Lance answered. "Unless you want to go back to your party."

Mick rolled his eyes but then still looked back towards the light and the music. Finally he turned around and climbed down into Lance's boat.

"It's not my party", Mick said and tenderly sat down on the bench behind Lance while trying to keep the boat steady. "According to Nikita it isn't even a party. So."

Lance laughed and steered the boat away from the yacht towards the open sea.

"Mmmh, that's it", Mick said, eyes closed and nose high up in the soft wind. "Where are we going?"

Lance shrugged. "Wherever we want. You can write Nikita you found a ride back to the hotel."

Mick laughed. "The boat is my hotel."

"You can't be serious?", Lance exclaimed and threw a glance over his shoulder. They left the last of the yachts and the only thing stretching out in front of them was water as far as they could still see.

"My Mum has to stay home. It was…on short notice", Mick explained and Lance did not dig. "When Nikita heard that I was alone he invited me to stay with him and I couldn't say no. It's just this one weekend."

"I could", Lance muttered and again Mick laughed.

"Well, you would never be invited. He really does not like you. Or your family. He tried to explain it once but I'm way too poor to understand it. And I'm not poor."

Lance snorted. "Italy or French coast?"

Mick opened his eyes. "What?"

"Should we go towards Italy or more along the French coast?"

"Oh. Italy."

Lance turned the wheel and in a wide half circle they chugged along the brightly lit coast. Far above them, the first stars appeared in the sky.

Mick had his eyes closed again and the wind was mussing his blonde hair.

"In hindsight I think he only wanted to show off his yacht."

"As if it were something to show off", Lance quipped.

"That's what I thought."

They laughed then fell silent again.

"Sorry about today", he suddenly piped up. "It was a bad joke."

"Don't know what you mean", Lance lied.

Mick grinned. "Sure."

Lance gripped the steering wheel tighter and turned a little bit inwards. He felt a faint rattle that he did not recognize but chose to ignore it.

"It's not like it was any good", he said. "I've heard better."

The boat swayed as Mick jumped up and plopped down in the seat next to Lance.

"I thought you didn't know what I meant?"

Lance rolled his eyes at Mick's grin but before he could think of an answer, Mick stretched out his arm and tousled his hair. Lance froze. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on steering but Mick's fingers stroking his head occupied his entire mind.

"That's not why I fetched you", Lance eventually managed. Something in the engine rattled again.

Mick smiled. "But maybe it's why I climbed onboard."

He slid closer to Lance, his hand wandering down until it rested on Lance's nape of the neck and the soft touch on his skin almost made him gasp. He pressed his lips hard together and looked at Mick. In the almost-darkness of late dusk his blue eyes seemed to glow. They were fixed squarely on Lance.

"I've wanted to do that for a while", Mick admitted. "I've always wondered what it would feel like. From the outside it looks solid, yet soft. A little bit like chinchilla-fur."

Lance burst out laughing. "I'm not a chinchilla!"

"Just wanted to be sure", Mick smiled, and inched even closer. Lance's heart raced in his chest when he realized Mick's intention.

And then it all went to shit.

Not with a spectacular explosion but with a wet gurgle and an abrupt jolt. Mick fell back into his seat and Lance clung to the wheel. He tried to accelerate but the boat suddenly felt stubborn and unyielding.

"Shit!", he muttered and turned the boat straight at the coast, hoping they might reach it before the engine gave out entirely. "Fuck! No! Shitshitshit!"

They had covered quite a distance and had left Monaco behind. The sharp rocks of the small cape just outside the country limits appeared and Lance steered to the right where he hoped to find a landing place. He had no idea how shallow the water was and simply prayed for the best. Just as a small, rocky beach appeared, the motor died with one last cough. Lance dropped his head on the wheel. The boat rocked gently in the waves.

Suddenly, Mick laughed. Lance moved his head a little bit until he could peer at him through one eye.

Mick still laughed though it sounded more forced. "Lance?"

Lance did not move.

"Okay, you can stop now. It was funny", Mick continued and started to look a bit desperate.

Lance took in a deep breath and sat up straight again. His ears and cheeks were burning up from embarrassment.

"Dude!", Mick giggled as the full realization hit him. "No way! No!"

"I'm sorry", Lance muttered and jumped into the shallow water then pulled the boat ashore. Roofs of fancy villas were visible through the trees and he was not sure how long they would stay undetected. Mick followed him and jumped over a few rocks to look back at Monaco.

"Well, that's something", he declared and turned around to Lance. He looked at him expectantly, waiting for a solution that Lance definitely did not have. Instead, he checked the fuel tank. It was empty. Great.

"So, you're going to call someone?", Mick eventually asked.

"I'm thinking", Lance answered though he was not. There was no one he could call.

"Someone from your boat?", Mick suggested.

Lance ran his hand over his eyes and through his hair. This evening had taken a catastrophic turn.

"Lance?", Mick asked.

"I can't", Lance finally exclaimed. "I…I took the boat without them knowing."

"And…?"

"And my father has rules, and he would sack the staff who…"

"Great", Mick muttered and put his hands on his hips. At least he understood.

"Maybe we could call Seb?", Lance suggested.

Mick checked his watch then shook his head. "No, he can't drive anymore. Thursdays in Monaco he and Kimi go to this vineyard behind Nizza, they eat, Kimi chooses the after-race wine for Sunday then they go back to the hotel and are in bed by…about now."

Lance stared at Mick.

"They're old", Mick explained. "They have habits."

Lance nodded. "I see."

For a moment the only sound was the waves softly crashing at the rocks of the cape.

"Brad!", Mick finally exclaimed and Lance just about jumped into the water.

He held his hands up. "No! Absolutely not."

"Why not?", Mick asked. "If I had troubles, I could always call Gary."

"You are in trouble!", Lance reminded him. "We're in trouble together!"

Mick folded his arms and held his chin up high. "I'm not disturbing Gary! Not when it was not my fault we landed here."

Lance bit his lip and held back the first answer that popped into his head. "Brad is not like Gary", he tried to explain.

Mick frowned. "Of course he is. Now call him!"

Lance threw his hands up in exasperation and stalked a few steps away. Of course he could not explain his relationship with Brad to someone like Mick. He tried to think of somebody else but no one came to mind and was that not almost sad.

Defeated, Lance fished his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through to Brad's number. He picked up after the first ringing.

"Yeah?"

"Hi…Hi Brad", Lance stuttered. "It's me, Lance."

"I know, I have your number saved", Brad answered and Lance wanted to tie a rope around his belly and swim back to the yacht with the boat in tow. "What do you want?"

In his back, clothes scraped over rocks. When Lance looked over his shoulder, Mick was sitting on one of the rocks, looking out into the night.

"I…I wouldn't call but we…I have problem…and I don't know anyone I else..."

"Explain!" He sounded curt as always.

Lance closed his eyes. "Well, I…I went out with a…colleague…on a motorboat. And there were some…problems and now I'm at this beach and the boat is…I don't know what to do. I can't tell my father and there's no…"

Before he could explain further, Brad cut him off. "Did anyone see you?", he asked sharply.

"No…no, I don't think so. But they couldn't…"

"Lance, stop talking!", Brad barked and in the background, Lance heard the loud bang of a door being slammed shut. "Listen very carefully! Where are you exactly?"

Lance took a deep breath. "That cape you see when you're looking towards Italy."

"Okay. Don't move! I'm coming over."

Lance exhaled and something in his throat untied a little bit. "Thank you so much. It was my fault, the fuel…"

"I said no talking!", Brad snapped and Lance's throat was sealed shut again. "I'm not finished. You stay where you are! Don't move, don't put on a light, just stay low!"

Lance frowned. "Okay? It's not like I could make light, the fuel…"

"I need twenty minutes. Don't call anyone else!"

Before Lance could say anything more, Brad hung up on him. For a second he eyed his phone confusedly then he shrugged and walked back to Mick.

"And?"

"Twenty minutes", Lance said and sat down on the stone next to Mick.

"See? I told you he'd come."

"I'm honestly surprised", Lance admitted. "He's not exactly…" He did not finish the sentence.

"Hard shell, soft core", Mick said matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"It's a German phrase."

Lance smiled and shook his head. He pulled his legs up and rested his chin on his knees. Below them, pitch-black water splashed at the shore. Golden lights from the coast were dancing over the ripples. Cold was seeping upwards from his wet feet until Mick suddenly slipped closer and he could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"It's quite nice, actually", Mick commented and even in the dark Lance saw his kind smile. "Like…if it had been planned."

Lance laughed from behind his knees. "I'm sorry", he said, the second time this evening. "It's just…so typical. I'm always messing up."

Mick tutted and wrapped his arm around Lance's. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

"Okay: I'm often messing up."

Mick laughed. "Better."

They stayed like this, waiting in amicable silence. Lance thought about the almost-kiss, right before the dumb boat had given out but he did not try to reignite that, not when Brad was on his way over, and neither did Mick.

Exactly twenty minutes later, they could hear footsteps approaching over the gravel.

"Yes!", Lance cheered and untangled himself from Mick. "It'll just be a minute now", he said and used the flashlight in his phone to find a way back over the rocks.

"Brad?", he asked as he walked along the beach. A dark, lumpy figure appeared in the darkness and Lance's heart skipped a beat.

"I said no lights!", Brad hissed and Lance exhaled.

"But then I wouldn't see a thing", he said and paused. Something was off. Not Brad himself, he glared at Lance like he always did, and he wore the team's polo shirt, as always. It was the strange materials he carried that stumped Lance, the rope and the tarp and what looked to be a bag of soil, and was that a bottle of cleaning agent?

"Where is it?", Brad asked sharply.

Lance could have asked the same. "Just around the corner", he said and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Should I go fetch the fuel?"

Brad stalked past him without an answer and Lance hastily followed him. "Is it still in the boat?", he asked as he approached it.

"What is in the boat?", Lance asked, completely lost.

Just then Mick stood up from his rock, a lean shadow in the darkness, and Brad dropped his stuff on the ground.

"Fuck!", he exclaimed. "Who's there."

Meanwhile, an unsettling thought crept up on Lance.

"Just me", Mick said and waved. "Thanks for coming."

Brad whirled around to face Lance, who was still illuminating the beach with his phone.

"Brad…", Lance began, "what do you think I called you for?"

Brad stared at him then back at the boat and Mick still standing on his rock then back at Lance, his mouth working without a sound coming out.

"Don't shine your bloody light into my eyes!", he eventually said gruffly and started to pick up his things.

"Oh my god!", Lance said softly and then, louder: "You thought…"

"You were not exactly specific with your explanation", Brad shot back. "And have we not talked more than enough about this? I need precise descriptions of your situation, otherwise I can't help you. You were just babbling into the phone. It was Monza all over again."

"Not because I killed somebody!", Lance shouted and Brad raised a finger to his lips.

"What?", Mick's voice sounded faintly out of the darkness.

"Keep your voice down, Lance!", Brad said in his most race-engineer-y voice. "What was I supposed to think? You couldn't finish one sentence."

"Because I was nervous!", Lance said, just as loud as before. "That I had to call you."

"Why would you have to be nervous about that?", Brad asked, rolling up the rope that had uncoiled and Lance's jaw hit the beach.

"Why would…?", he managed before the indignation became too much. "Because you're always giving me shit for everything I do! Because you never let me finish! Because…"

"Calm down, Lance!", Brad urged and Lance laughed.

"Sorry", Brad admitted. "You wanted to say?"

Lance took a deep breath and ran his hand over his eyes. This was too surreal.

"Nothing", he said quietly and bent over to pick up the bag from the ground. It was not soil and it was not sealed either.

"Don't touch it!", Brad warned just as Lance shone his phone into the bag to look at the white powder. "It'll burn you." He handed Lance the bottle, it turned out to be bleach, then grabbed the tarp. Just then another light flared up as Mick tried to find a way back from his rock.

"You stay here!", Brad ordered him and went off, back towards the street.

Lance could not see Mick's face anymore, blinded by his flashlight. "Just a minute", he said apologetically and hurried after Brad. They walked along the shore for a stretch, then turned inwards, disappearing among the trees and shrubbery.

"I'm giving you shit because it is my job to do so", Brad suddenly piped up.

"There are nineteen other guys who have the same job", Lance said, anger spilling out of him. "But most of them manage to be nicer."

Now it was Brad who laughed. "I'm no Gary Gannon."

"No need to tell me that", Lance muttered.

"I don't have to be", Brad continued unperturbed. "Because you're not a rookie anymore and you don't have to drive the worst car on the grid and because I know you can handle everything I throw at you." The path got steeper and they turned into the street right next to a lamp. A nondescript rental car stood a few steps away.

"Doesn't mean I'm not proud of what you've achieved these past years and that I wouldn't do anything for you", Brad added and walked towards the car. Lance stayed behind, glued to the ground, bag of unslaked lime slowly gliding out of his grasp.

"Do you need a special invitation?", Brad asked without turning around or waiting for his driver.

Lance hiked the bag higher and hurried along. He tried to keep his smile down. He had just found out that his race engineer apparently moonlighted as a mobster for crying out loud. But he could not. Brad waited for him under the opened hatch of the rental with a canister of fuel already in his hand. Lance spilled the things in his hands onto the rest of the material in the hatch, shovels and more tarp and knives.

"So, that your first time?", he asked.

Brad rolled his eyes and slammed the hatch shut. "We're never talking about this again", he announced and walked back towards the beach.

"Was it for Esteban? Or Checo? I'm never looking at them the same again."

"Lance!"

"Okay, okay."

Mick was waiting by the boat when they returned, looking something between bemused and utterly terrified. Brad poured the fuel into the tank and watched as Lance and Mick shoved the boat back into the water.

"Yes!", Lance exclaimed once the motor was purring and looked back at the beach. "Thank you so much."

"Thanks", Mick parroted.

Brad nodded and put the cap back on the canister. "One second", he said just as Lance started turning the wheel and stepped forward until his soles were in the water. He pointed at Mick. "Keep this night in mind when you think about breaking his heart. I can make you disappear without a trace. Doubt anyone would miss you."

"It's not what you think it…", Lance said hastily.

"Yes, Sir", Mick said in the same moment.

Without another word Brad turned around and disappeared into the night.

They spent most of the ride back in silence, listening to the waves crashing at the motorboat and the roar of the motor.

"He's not like Gary", Mick eventually said.

Lance nodded. "I guess."

He killed the engine once they came close to Mazepin's yacht and floated to the ladder. There was still light on in the upper deck but the music had been turned down.

Mick grabbed the ladder to keep the boat from moving but did not stand up.

"I'm sorry about tonight", Lance said.

Mick smiled at him and grabbed his hand. "Don't sweat it. It was an adventure."

"It wasn't supposed to be", Lance answered, ignoring his heart beating furiously in his chest.

"Well, if you ever are in one again, write me." Mick squeezed his hand one last time. "See you in the morning."

"Yeah", Lance managed and watched as Mick disappeared in the yacht.